bowling shoes and photobooths
by justimpolite
Summary: 'You've had this thing going on with Reagan for about two weeks now. You've never had this kind of relationship with someone before. The closest thing to this you've had was with Karma: the coloured cheeks, the handholding, the kissing.' Reagan asks Amy to meet her friends.


You've had this thing going on with Reagan for about two weeks now.

You call it a 'thing' because, well, you don't really know what else to call it. You've never had this kind of relationship with someone before. The closest thing to this you've had was with Karma: the coloured cheeks, the handholding, the kissing.

But then again, that wasn't like this at all.

Because when Reagan threads her fingers through yours, or sucks gently on your bottom lip, you know it's because she wants to; because she feels the same way about you that you do about her.

And you never had that with Karma.

So when she catches you staring at her for a little too long, shooting a knowing smile in your direction, you don't look away.

(You've spent too long looking away.)

.

You're watching a movie together one night when she asks you.

Movie night with Reagan is completely different to movie night with Karma.

With Karma, you would spend more time adding your own commentary than you would paying attention to the actual film. Often you'd get distracted completely and end up in some sort of popcorn war, ducking behind cushions to avoid the flying food.

You still talk when you're watching with Reagan, but it's different. She's also way more into film than Karma is. Reagan's taken it upon herself to share all her favourites with you, and it makes your heart flutter every time because in some way she's sharing a piece of herself with you.

So there you are, in Reagan's cramped apartment on her cramped couch, your head resting on her shoulder as she traces shapes on your forearm with her fingers. You had smiled at the way her breath caught a little bit when Margot Tenebaum got off the green line bus, and nudged her shoulder with your nose when you caught her mouthing along to Nico playing in the background. She'd just smiled that gorgeous smile at you and squeezed your arm.

Five minutes later you feel her eyes on you, and turn to shoot her a questioning glance.

'Do you want to meet my friends?' she asks, out of the blue.

'Me?' You say, before cursing yourself. Of all the responses, that was the one you'd had to go with. Reagan doesn't seem to mind, doesn't even seem fazed, crinkling her nose in amusement.

'Well, Scarlett Johansson had been my first choice, but it turns out she can't make it.'

'She is pretty busy these days.'

'It's a shame, but I suppose you'll have to do. So, you up for it?'

You look at her for a moment, trying to see if she's serious.

'You want me to meet your friends?'

'Yes.'

'Why?'

'Well, I've pretty much been blowing them off for the last two weeks to hang out with you, so I reckon they'd probably like to know who's replaced them.'

Your stomach lurches a little, and you look back to the TV as your wring your hands nervously.

'Oh, sorry. You don't have to hang out with me if you'd rather be with them.'

She takes your hand, gently bringing your gaze back to her.

'That's not what I meant. I like spending time with you. Besides, I can't do this,' she leans in, kissing you softly, before pulling back and grinning, 'with any of my friends.'

'I would hope not,' you say a little breathlessly, aware of the way her arm has found itself around your waist.

'We're going bowling this week. How'd you like be my ten-pin teenage dream?'

'Well, that was pretty terrible, but yeah, I'd like that,' you say with a smile. 'I should warn you, I'm pretty good.'

'How good?'

'I guess you'll have to wait and see.'

'I guess I will.'

You miss the rest of the movie, but with Reagan's mouth on yours and your fingers running up and down her back, you find you don't really care.

.

'What if they don't like me?'

'Amy, there's no way they won't like you.'

'Yeah, but what if they don't?'

She grabs your arm, stepping in front of you and peering at you gently.

'Why are you so worried about this?'

'I don't know. I'm not really a huge 'people person', I guess,' you say with a shrug, anxiety churning in your stomach.

'I promise they'll love you,' she says, taking your hand in hers and leading you towards the revolving doors of the bowling alley.

Two pairs of bowling shoes and several strikes later, your anxiety about meeting Reagan's friends is pretty much gone.

Reagan's friends are a lot like her. Kind of punk looking; a lot of piercings and tattoos for such a small group of people. At first glance you'd been a little intimidated, but now, an hour in, you're fairly sure they might be some of the nicest people you've ever met.

They're constantly laughing, and you don't feel left out or like you're intruding, because they're making a conscience effort to include you. You get on particularly well with one guy, Alex, whose boyfriend couldn't make it, and you end up bonding over a love for the documentary section on Netflix. You even end up teaming up because Reagan made some comment about you having two left feet, and if you weren't gonna kiss that smug smile off her face, you might as well do it through completely crushing her.

When both you and Alex end the game on strikes, you high five and lift your arms in the air in triumph. You turn to send a cocky comment in Reagan's direction, but the words die in your throat when you find her looking at you with such tenderness that you heart catches in your chest.

You all go to hang out in the arcade for a bit once you've handed your shoes back.

You and Alex are desperately trying to win an oversized Scooby Doo on one of the crane machines, when Reagan appears behind you, whispering a 'come on' in your ear, and pulling you away by the wrist.

She pulls you into a photobooth, drawing the curtain behind you.

'A photobooth, are you ser-', but you're cut off by Reagan's lips on yours, her hand in your hair.

She pulls away after a few seconds.

'-…serious?' you say. Reagan laughs at your dazed expression.

'Sorry, I've been wanting to do that all night.'

'Even when I was kicking your ass at bowling?'

'Especially when you were kicking my ass at bowling.'

You smile at each other for a moment as you rub your thumb back and forward across her hand. She looks up, as if realising where they are, before grinning and digging some coins out of her pocket. She inserts them into the slot, turning to grin at you.

'Ready?' she asks, slinging an arm around your shoulder.

'Wow, I thought I was the younger one of the two of us. Are you sure you're not really twelve?'

'Shut up and kiss me,' she says.

So you do just that.

.

You're back in your room a few hours later. Reagan had left a little while ago after spending a good hour rolling around on your bed.

(Remembering the way she'd whispered, 'I really like you too,' against your lips leaves you a little breathless.)

You're lying upside down on your bed, listening to an album that Reagan had recommended when your phone buzzes on your nightstand. You attempt to grab it with your foot, but figure you should actually put the effort in when you nearly smash your lamp. You manoeuvre around, grabbing your phone and unlocking it to see who had messaged you, a part of you secretly hoping it was Reagan again already.

Karma: How was your date?

You crane your head to peer at the new addition to the wall beside your bed. The strip of photobooth pictures from earlier that day hang from above your table. You reach out and finger the edge, taking in how happy you look, smiling into the kiss.

Amy: Amazing.


End file.
